Tag
by 1silentmouse
Summary: Italy was fast. France was well aware of that, but like a wild animal chasing his prey, he only saw Italy before him.


He was breathing heavily, panting for air to fill his tired lungs. His legs and thighs were sore. Sweat was dripping down his face. His once perfectly kept hair and cloths were now a total and complete mess. But France didn't care about any of that, no, he was far too happy for meaningless worries. He opened his eyes to look at the prize he held in his arms, meeting Italy's hazel eyes with a bright smile.

It had all gone according to England's plan, they had set an ambush for the Axis.

England and Russia were to handle Germany.

America and China would deal with Japan.

All France had to do was to catch Italy.

France was known for not being a good fighter, he would have been useless for the others during the ambush. But France had a talent that the others didn't posses, a talent that made him perfect to capture Italy.

He was fast. Faster then any other nation from the Allies.

When the ambush was set in motion Germany had yelled Italy to run before engaging in combat. He was fast in obeying and had dashed away from the conflict quickly.

France started to sprint after the Italian in matters of seconds.

Italy was fast, he became even faster when retreating from battle or when being pursued. France was well aware of that, he and Italy had been raised together by the Roman Empire. They had played together, chasing each other, for years.

He knew that to catch the Italian he would have to either out run him, which was a hard but not impossible, have him make a mistake or drain him out before he drained himself.

They had already separated themselves from the other, but that didn't matter now, they were running and each step they took meant the difference between capture and escape.

Italy was focused in his surrounding, looking for a way to gain distance from France.

France couldn't care less for the fast passing surroundings, like a wild animal chasing his prey, he only saw Italy before him.

Italy was running at full speed, making swift turns and dashing into enclosed spaces trying to lose France, but no matter what he did France was keeping up. When he crawled in spaces in-between walls France would sprint to the wall and jump over them. When he ran up stairs France would be running right behind him, skipping steps to get closer to him. When he ran down them, France would be jumping entire staircases to get closer. Whenever Italy thought he had managed to lose France the blond would jump from a wall closer then before. It didn't matter what kind of obstacle Italy managed to put between them, France was getting through every one of them.

France knew he was gaining in, the space between him and his prey was getting smaller every time Italy tried to lose him. But his speed still wasn't enough to get to him.

In one swift motion he released his cloak, soon followed by his coat. With ought their weight bringing him down, France now was swifter and jumped his obstacles in an unnerving ease for Italy.

Tears were blurring the Italian's vision. He was terrified, no matter what he did France was keeping up, getting closer to him.

Italy was now regretting the times he had skipped Germany's training sessions, he didn't want to get caught by France. But he couldn't run for ever, he couldn't tell for how long he had been running, but he was already tired from it, panting hard to keep going. He was wishing that France would tire out and give up.

France was indeed tired, but he knew he could still keep running for long enough to grab the Italian.

France was used to run for days, had experience running away from angry lovers after a flirt, whenever he got in a fight with Prussia or Spain he would make them both chase after him long enough for all three to be completely drained and exhausted enough to forget the reason of their fight. It was one of the reasons they had managed to keep the friendship going even thought they had wagered war against each other countless times.

Stamina was not a problem for the country of love.

Italy was losing speed, he couldn't keep up the same pace as before. He was drained of energy.

France saw the opportunity, and jumped the Italian. Rolling together, bodies slammed into a tangle of limbs, until they finally achieved a complete stop a few miles away from where the French man had tackled the smaller Italian man.

Both bodies were bruised by the rough landing and the extensive running, they were drained, panting for air, drenched in sweat, and too tired to move or care about anything.

France was holding the Italian on top of him in a tight hug. When their eyes finally met, both smiled and started laughing, not caring that their laughs were hurting their already exhausted bodies.

France was the first to speak up after their laughter died out.

"_Mon cher frèr,_ I can't remember the last time we played such a exhausting tag game." He was smiling, his smile growing wider when the also smiling Italian replied.

"_Ve…_ Me neither." France released his arms from the Italian, tiredly laying them beside his body.

Italy rolled over beside France and there they stood, beside each other, catching their breath, smiling and looking at the bright sky above them, everything else forgotten in that small moment of peace.

It was with a long and tired sigh that France sat up, and lends a hand so Italy would also stand up.

"We should go find the others." France said, disappointed that they couldn't enjoy that peace.

"_Ve_… Do you think they are still fighting?" Italy wondered.

"Knowing them, it's possible." France had started walking to the general direction where he believed the others had kept on with their fighting, Italy walking besides him.

"_Ve_… Do you think we can stop for some pasta before joining them? All that running made me hungry." France smiled fondly at Italy.

"_Bien sûr__ Italie._"


End file.
